


knife tricks

by grab_n_growl



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time Blow Jobs, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub, M/M, NSFW, Pining, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Slurs, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:14:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18065522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grab_n_growl/pseuds/grab_n_growl
Summary: Taught him how to make prey out of any man or beast. How to flay the skin and siphon hides and bones and meat- an entire process that Javier seemed so incrediblyenthralledby, considering his history of sorely lacking innutrition. As it was with a man of his class, of hisbirth. Unfortunate circumstances, as had beheld them all, and had pushed them here. Into the rag-tag bunch of misfits and delinquents, scraping at the bottom of the bowl for any scraps the world could offer. They all shared knowledge in that way, all taught one another, and so when the bare-footed creature had been given to them, it had been the cowboy's duty to indulge in such.But one thing Arthur had never needed to teach him was how to use aknife.





	knife tricks

**Author's Note:**

> finished request for Eli! I hope you enjoy the content c:

Arthur remembered it clearly, the day that he'd first gotten an up-close glimpse at the beautiful, engorged metal of Javier's knife, all silvery and etched tender and careful with winding vines so realistic they appeared to choke the well-polished sliver. A point fit to make red bloom on even the toughest of hides, scoured by engravings of skulls choked by flowers, and the entirety of the delicate blade was something _gorgeous_ to the artist. Something someone like him could appreciate, both as a man of surprising _aesthetic depth_ and as a _blood-soaked_ _outlaw_  chalking grooves into history itself.  
  
No one would ever forget his name, the name he'd carved deep into the sturdy-wood spine of the country.  
  
A _scar_ that would never be washed away even with his _death,_ one he would undoubtedly _deserve_ by all stretch of means. For he had not been _gentle,_ had not taken his time chipping away at the bark and into the _flesh-_ had come forth with clinical, angry _strength,_ and perhaps that gave his carving all the more _creative muse._ Something _poetic_ in the way any scholar could study the lines and see how _frustrated he was._  
  
He was not a man of finesse. Was not a man of delicacies. Of sweetness. Of tenderness. Of anything that was good and kind- according to him, though many who'd crossed his path on a good day had remarked otherwise. A _butcher_ was his usual title, an _enforcer,_ a _hunting hound,_ a  _criminal._ Those were terms that fit Arthur on the usual bright-eyed morning, the lazy afternoons, the sultry and sick nights. He was not _flexible._ He was not _bendable._ And, perhaps, that was why he fit their outlaw lifestyle so perfectly. Because he did not _flinch,_ not on the outside, no. To all, he appeared a big, intimidating _brute_ who made up for his "lack of brains", lack of _anything human,_ with the sheer size of his presence and the terrifying accuracy in the way he ripped lives away like blowing the fragile cotton tips of matured dandelions, letting the seeds to the wind. Spreading _weeds._  
  
_Pretty flowers, though._ All yellowed and gold, sun-kissed and warm, little petals all in sweet rows that in some way appeared _cute,_ for lack of better term. They were some of Arthur's favorite flowers- if one could acknowledge that someone  _terrible_ like him could ever have something as simple as a  _favored petal._ But he did, and on Javier's knife, he'd seen one of the blooms prepared to drip off the spindled tip and recognized it immediately. _Dandelion._ Lacking the characteristic saturated flaxen pallor and yet, so exquisitely detailed it was like a rare, moon-bred blossom, made alive by every twitch of fingers across it and Arthur, for a long moment, had been so enraptured he'd _stared_ with a freeing blankness permeating his head.  
  
Yes, he remembered the day he'd seen the work of art so close- both knife _and owner._  
  
O'Driscolls weren't uncommon, not by a long shot, considering how Colm appeared a spider with webbing in every nook and cranny across the country, sucking poor, stupid _flies_ in to do his dirty work time and time again. There was never a _shortage_ of men to keep track of, of men to _distrust._ And it had remained that way for years- _been_ that way for years, as long as Arthur could remember. Nothing new, nothing special, when he'd gone out scouting with Javier per Dutch's eloquently-put orders.  


 

_a new spot. perhaps you might be interested in persuading the current tenants to leave without a fuss?_

 

Of which, in lay person terms- or in "big, mindless brute" character- meant to _get rid of._ Any means necessary, as Arthur had learned in his life as an outlaw where _survival_ was the only word you ever needed to constantly remind yourself of. Everything else can second, _third, fourth..._ Existence was big enough of a struggle on its own. Whoever you needed to strike down in your path of just _living,_ well, _so be it._ That was what the cowboy was good for. What he'd been raised to know to do. But Javier was different. A killer, of course, as many of them were. But there was a certain taste of _hope_ in those blackened eyes, ones that had been coated in the film of starvation and disease the first time they'd met, dragged back to the rundown camp site after Dutch's quest of  _chicken-hunting_ yielded a much-larger-than-a-chicken _not chicken._ Dirty and ragged but _hoping._ It was a startling thing to see when he looked into those wild eyes, language barrier almost insurmountable between them at the time, but they didn't need to use words. Not like Dutch did. Could simply be, _exist,_ and that was all that mattered.

Arthur had been one to teach Javier the ways of an outlaw, of a _criminal,_ despite how many times their black-winged savior tried to twist it into a different term. _Synonyms_ they were, and the funny thing about _synonyms_ were that one word meant the _same_ as the _other._

Had taken the slight, skin-and-bones _kid_ and helped mold him like he'd been. Taught him how to properly hold guns of all kinds, fingers intertwined along the barrel of a pistol, stroking the metal with reverence and acceptance in the _power_ one wielding in holding it. Bodies pressed together, one a pillar of strength- _inflexible_ and sturdy like a great oak _._ The other much smaller, feet as light as a dancer upon a stage, like the mossy vines that overtook abandoned buildings and retook them for Mother Nature. Taught him how to make prey out of any man or beast. How to flay the skin and siphon hides and bones and meat- an entire process that Javier seemed so incredibly _enthralled_ by, considering his history of _sorely lacking_ in the nutrition. As it was with a man of his class, of his _birth._ Unfortunate circumstances, as had beheld them all, and had pushed them _here._ Into the rag-tag bunch of misfits and delinquents, scraping at the bottom of the bowl for any scraps the world could offer. They all _shared knowledge_ in that way, all taught one another, and so when the bare-footed creature had been given to them, it had been the cowboy's duty to indulge in such.

But one thing Arthur had never needed to teach him was how to use a _knife._

Had witnessed with his own eyes, Javier's ability to hit the mark every single time no matter how far away he was from his target. Blade sinking deep into wood flesh, again and again. It was his only possession when he'd come to the West, desperate to simply _live,_ just as they all were desperate for. And that knife, one he carried like it was precious to him, was like an extension of his own existence. It was always cradled in his hand, against his hip, balanced on his bedroll. No one could cut as fine and delicate as he could. No one could carve letters as beautifully as he could. No one could make perfectly straight lines in dust and skin as he could. Effortlessly fluent, it was like watching a secret show he should've never been privy to, and in those moments of wielding, he felt as though the Javier he knew was barely scratching the surface of what lurked beneath. Just like the  _knife,_ one he could see was detailed so carefully, but never able to fully _appreciate it._  
  
Until that day.

The congregation they'd been sent to "scatter to the winds", so to speak, had already been _displaced_ by the time they'd arrived. Blood-soaked campsite became their reality, scouring high and low for _reasons-_ and found it easily, _easily._ They weren't careful enough. Taken _off-guard._ And they were punished for it. From the trees descended upon them a hail of raucous bullets like tempested rain, pushing them both into scrambling for cover beneath upturned wooden tables and looted chests-

 

_malditos bastardos!_  


 

All Arthur can hear is the shouting, the gurgles of the men falling to his flanks as he sank bullet after bullet into them, gun smoke thick enough to _choke him,_ filtering into his lungs on every breath. The beat of his heart was all that kept him moving, adrenaline blowing his eyes _wide_ and senses chaotic, energy sizzling along his skin. It was his first scrabble alone with _Javier,_ and perhaps that fact is what made him _clumsy._ His eyes kept trying to find the other through the fog and noise, desperate to ensure the safety of a fellow gangmember, and perhaps that is the reason he was so _easily_ overcome-

Hands had wrapped around his neck and bloodshot met bloodshot, grappling in the dirt as he fought for the right to stay standing, to _not be pushed down. Don't get thrown to the ground._ He'd never get up again, not with the O'Driscoll's whiskey-stinking breath so _close,_ and the corner of his eye caught the tell-tale flash of _silver. A knife._

 

_arthur!_

 

He couldn't react fast enough, he was being twisted- there was no way to put a bullet through the man's head, nor to elbow him away. Stuck, _stuck-_

Until crimson flowers bloomed at the side of the throat inches away from his face, petals red and pulsating _fast, slick,_ down the torn cartilage and severed arteries and veins, exposing weed-flesh to the air. It was with a sickening _gurgle_ that the man fell short, blood splattering across Arthur's visage at the gasping _cough_ spewed at him, and then the O'Driscoll was dropped to the floor. Dead as a doorknob, as he had been seconds from being. But the corpse collapsing at his feet- not for the first time- his eyes were focused _elsewhere._ Stuck enraptured at the vision of Javier, suddenly looking so... _big._ So _encompassing,_ like the black of his wild, adrenaline-soaked eyes were devouring him whole in his gaze. Delicately speckled with crimson like some nouveau painting, there was something _bright_ in his hand.

_The knife._

It shifted merely an inch or so from his eyes when Javier lifted his bloodied hand, handle against his palm and sharpened tip carefully faced away, to delicately brush a lock of Arthur's blonde hair away from his brow.

 

_easier to wash later._

 

The cowboy, quite honestly, found no anger in the gesture. Felt no defensive _jerk_ in his energized muscles, no inclination to _move away._ Not with his attention riveted upon the _dagger,_ silver doused in vermillion now drying against the blade, edged as fine as needlepoint. He could see all the details, every etch of the flower and vine, the curve of skulls that conjured images of the real thing in his mind, sun-bleached from laying in the desert sun to _rot._ Each inlay was soaked in blood and yet, it only seemed to make the images stand out even _starker,_ dark and choking along every inch they splayed. It was beautiful, _beautiful,_ an incredible work of art and his fingers _itched_ to trace the carvings, to drag his callouses along the blade that he, for some reason, felt confident would not be turned against him. Felt the _tug_ in his heart to copy the design like a blueprint into his journal, pressing it amongst the margins of deer and squirrels and buildings scrawled. And _Javier._ Javier just looked so... _confident. Different_ from the mannered, quiet young man who sat beneath the closest trees in whatever camp they were in at the time to strum the guitar he'd stolen from a saloon patron a few months back. Who fed the chickens mildly, who kept to himself aside from the few times he managed to get drunk with some celebration or another.

Despite their situation, they always did find an excuse for a _party._

And yet, Javier remained so... mellow. _Unremarkable._ Hardly worth a glance outside of their circle. Just another _greaser_ looking for a new life that he wasn't going to find. But looking at him now, chest still panting with desperation and tongue _just_ slipped from between his lips, sharing breathe in how close they stood, gaze alight and staring at Arthur like he was some wild, beautiful creature, powerful and _demanding respect_ and looking altogether like one of those heroes in the adventure books Hosea loved so much-

Arthur needed to sit down for a bit.

They cleaned up the camp quickly while the cowboy struggled to shove his wily, snakelike thoughts into a basket with a _tight lid,_ clearing away bodies and filth and splintered wood together. A quick affair and yet, the man found his head infiltrated by flowers and vines, _dandelions, his favorite,_ blooming behind his eyes every time they slipped closed, envisioning the beautiful imprint he'd seen on the knife. Wondered what it would be like to see said blossoms dotting the length of the other's hair, stark yellow sunny and warm gold against the velvet black. _Would bring out his eyes, they would._

When did Arthur _get like this?_

He was lost in his head as they made their way back to Dutch and the others, still ruffled and blood-stained and filled with the aching holes drained adrenaline left behind, but he noticed the glances Javier threw at him. Something akin to _concern_ and _worry_ creasing the dark brows as they rode along, quietly taking the back roads back to their station. Felt the questions on the tip of the tongue, wanting to _ask._ But he seemed to hover in _hesitation_ as they moved, watching Arthur closely, as though inclined to imagine the older was about to do something crazy like jump into the nearest lake.

It wasn't on his top list of things to do, but it was slowly inching there, with the way his idle-cloud thoughts turned to imagery of the way Javier had stood, somehow _so big,_ in front of him. Itched to draw it, to commit it forever to paper, the lines of the face, the brightness of the eye, the slim line of body corded with muscle-tensed-

_Damnit._

It was nothing new to him. It had not been the first time Arthur had peered upon another man such as himself and found his heart stirring in interest. Aesthetic or _otherwise._ And he'd never found himself particularly _bothered_ by it. He'd looked upon so many faces in saloons and bars, in the streets they holed up in, along the trails they traveled, and had found in equal parts both men and women who had caught his _attentions_ in the same manner. When he'd realized he felt the same way for a sharp-antlered stag as he did for a pretty-eyed doe, he felt no upheaval about it. There was no point in letting his heart run away with his head, no. Didn't have the time for it, didn't have the capacity to handle it aside from mere _pining._ And he did not do such without weight. But, still, there had been creases of eyes his pencil had traced, short locks he'd stared at, sharp jaws he'd been so close to he was able to smell the oil in the beards. All committed to paper, of course, but nothing more. That was as far as it got.

But _Javier..._ was starting to look a hell of a lot _different_ to him, in the time they'd spent together since then.

In the years they'd spent growing and expanding alongside the rest of the gang. As they went time and time again on heists and robberies, side-by-side, cutting down foes of all sizes and shapes. Even during the Blackwater heist, where everyone scrambled in agony and pain and terror as they were descended on like a flock of defenseless sheep to the wolves, Arthur and Javier had a certain sort of _understanding._ Kept an eye on one another when they could, watching for potential dangers, for anything the other might have difficulty _getting out of._ At least, that's what Arthur certainly did. He was Dutch's lieutenant, his second-in-command, and in the panic of the Pinkertons and authorities trying to devour them, he stood _strong_ and  _inflexible_ as he was expected to be. Didn't bend nor bow to bullet nor knife, shot everyone to hell even as they were fleeing. Damn near carried Davey out of the fray, covered the women as they tried to drag Jenny out of the way of further gunshot, dragged an officer to the ground before he could capitalize on how Charles' burnt hand left him a poor gunner. Even as his beloved Boadicea got littered with bullets, able to carry him to the treeline and beyond before she'd collapsed and he'd been forced to leave her, he showed nothing. No tears. No visible pain. He couldn't show that, no.

He was _Arthur Morgan._ Being anything _else_ wasn't an option.

It wasn't until he was curled up, alone in the silent camp they'd hastily put up in the mountains after they'd fled, that he became anything else. Wasn't even aware he was crying until the sketch of Boadicea he'd been working on began to be drabbled with droplets from where his face hovered over his journal in the oily, sick lamplight, alone and cold. Felt the swell in his chest, painful and choking, as he heard Davey's moans of pain, John's frustrations at the bullet wound through his leg, the women muttering nervously at how _quiet_ Jenny was. It was all _choking him, killing him,_ and honestly he would've preferred a bullet then than the heavy, deep-set  _agony_ in his stomach that _he should've saved them._ He was supposed to be their tree, steady and strong and never bending no matter the strength of the wind. But they'd still lost _so much,_ and there was nothing Arthur could do when facing the overwhelming black tidal wave that wished to consume him, body and soul.

Didn't move when a familiar hand had dropped to his shoulder, cigarette smoke and good tobacco and fruit-taste in the air as warmth settled beside him on the stones. It was the one and only time Javier had ever been privy to Arthur like this, hunched over and exhausted and welling with _tears,_ curled into a ball and doing everything to make his largeness _small._ It was _agonizing_ to see, shocking perhaps, but Javier had said nothing that night. Had simply _stayed, alongside him,_ until morning had edged over the horizon.

A freely-given _comfort_ that Arthur hadn't needed to ask for.

That's how things remained.

Whenever the unshakable tree became _shivery,_ the musician always seemed to be there. To simply sit and exist together without the weight of the world on their shoulders. They found each other without a fuss, without a hold-up. It was simply the way things were- and it wasn't always them that began it. Hosea had shepherded them together on the search for John up in the snowed-in cliffsides, covering high-and-low to find the mangey man, lord knows why they wanted him back. Alas, they did as they were told, and there was an easy companionship between the two that made the whole ordeal a lot more  _bearable._ Trudging through thigh-deep snow and damn near getting eaten by wolves was not exactly in his top list of activities he enjoyed doing on his spare time, but Javier's steadiness beside him kept him going.

And things continued to _grow._

Crouched down, eye-level to Javier's belt, was a new position to be in when they'd snuck into the Porter family's homestead, keen on digging up the treasures the musician had heard about in passing. Sidled up behind the dilapidated shed, careful ears kept out to listen to the _strange_ family speak, Arthur had found his attention _elsewhere._ Tracing the shining cylinders of the man's belt, all gold-metal, wound tight with light leather that clung tight to his hipbones, pistols a silver shimmer at his flanks. They were just as detailed as the _knife,_ engraved with bleached skulls and delicate, winding lines along the barrel, like opportunistic moss growing along a forgotten barn. _Pretty.  
_  
And there was an _odd look_ in Javier's eyes when he'd peered down at Arthur splayed at his feet, mouth working for a moment without sound, before gesturing him off to hide in the rocks. Seemed to _watch,_ far more closely than what might be considered _normal_ for the situation, at how quickly and silently and _efficiently_ the great tree moved. Moved to _obey orders._ And the cowboy tried his best to keep his damn _mouth shut_ from saying anything _stupid,_ like how good Javier looked _up there._

He'd decided to close his heart off after Mary, after Eliza. But _Javier?_ Kept coming back in, again and again.

 

" Going fishing! "

 

Oh, how he sounded so _excited_ and _stating the obvious,_ like there was nothing else you could find him doing other than fishing. He'd looked so... _young,_ for that moment. Like the shit that had been drowning them for months had been lifted off his shoulders with the knowledge of a good fishing spot he wanted to try out, and Arthur, how he'd been _lured in_ like a baited smallmouth. But, honestly, _he didn't care._ Didn't care, because there was a brightness twinkling in those eyes, streaming sunlight glinting off the hazel, spectrals of gold-chocolate sprayed out every blink. _Itch, itch, his fingers itched-_

 

" You want to join me? "

 

The thought made Arthur _recoil,_ laughter self-deprecating as his drawl,

 

" Aww, I can't fish with you, you're far too good. "

 

 

And that was the damn truth. The cowboy was a piss-poor fisherman, much better at shooting a man between the eyes than he was able to sit patiently on the dockside waiting for unsuspecting fish to come nibbling at his rod. But Javier, _oh, Javier,_ was not to be deterred by the man's antics and well-known _self-esteem issues,_

 

" Oh, _come on, join me._ I'll show you some of my _tricks._ "

 

There is a certain _curl_ to the word that has Arthur's ears perking, has his heart alert like a hound listening for its prey, for the footfalls of a rabbit near. _Listening._ And he finds himself tugged in by the belt with the way the musician urged him forward into new heights, the _shine_ in his gaze as glaring as the well-polished enamor of his gold-toed boots. And he felt himself relenting,  _melting,_ with a suffering _sigh_ and a trail after the one who's gait had miles more _pep._

 

" Glad you're so excited about this. "

 

It's dry, but said with honesty. Because it's _true._ Arthur _was_ pleased to see Javier so _vivid_ again, unlike the past few months where they'd all been weathered and colorless, faded into the shadows both in heart and spirit. The companionship is _easy. They_ are _easy._ Loping off beneath the sun-filtered trees, warmth upon their spines as they dogged back-and-forth about _Dutch, Dutch Dutch._ The man with the _plan. _More and more, Arthur wasn't seeing it that way, not anymore, but he dared not speak it in truth, no. Not to the man who rode alongside him, _stars in his eyes_ when he proudly proclaimed his loyalty to the one-and-only black-winged _savior,_ who'd delivered them all on wings of _faith._

More and more, it just sounded to him like fairytales and unobtainable dreams.

Oh, but he couldn't say it to the man he walked alongside down the ravine, poles thrown over their shoulders as they approached the little pond. And every word Javier spoke, Arthur seemed to _hang off of,_ like it was his saving grace somehow. At how the musician laid out _everything_ for him, even staking out his fishing spot for him. It felt... like something _strange_ was undercurrented between them, crackling quiet and almost imperceptible if the cowboy wasn't so damn _alert_ all the time. Always waiting, _prepared,_ to have to jump to fight at a moment's notice. That's what he _had to be._ But here? Perhaps... perhaps this could be something _different._ Something _relaxing,_ and lord knows they both needed it.

And it was- relaxing even though he wasn't catching anything.

 

" It's your bait... come use some of mine. "

 

Oh, what an _optimistic outlook-_

 

" It's not the bait, it's me. I've always been a terrible fisherman, compared to you and Hosea. "

 

Javier seemed to _hesitate,_ in some way. Like he was weighing his options, from foot to foot, before digging into his pocket to procure a dappled bag. When he looks over now, there is a _heaviness_ to his gaze as his voice slips _lower,_ as he _pushes,_ lightly, as though testing the limits of his _persuasion._ Tosses it to Arthur and urges him to use it, and the cowboy feels himself relatively _powerless_ to say no. To try to back out, like he normally would've. Unable to conjure up enough of a fight to bat the assistance away, wordlessly switching his bait out and tossing again and again.

And Javier's voice is as steady as a trickling stream, warm and comforting, as he praised every throw Arthur did, whether it was sloppy or not. Rattled on about the feeding instincts of the fish they were eyeing for, all about the weather, the insects, the time of day, and the cowboy is welcome to have his hat so he could hide his growing smile beneath its lip. It was a welcome change to hear the excitement, regardless of how boring the actual topic may be to a man like him. He was pleased enough that the musician was deeming him fit to hear all of it, and honestly, he imagines it's the most they've spoken to one another for a long time. Since their ride to raid the Porters, and the _thought_ once more procures the vision of Javier standing over him again, and he has to cough to disguise the fact he'd damn near choked on his own saliva at the memory.

How much longer could he last like this?

Suspended in _wanting_ for something he _couldn't have._ And he so _desperately_ hoped that it would ebb away as soon as he managed to copy Javier's likeness to his journal, just as he'd done with every other man he'd ever found  _beautiful_ like he did the man near him.

In the moment he managed to hook a smallmouth and drag it to the shore, every word of praise made his face flush, every _purr_ the other lavished his unforgiving soul with, until he mumbled away the commentary with aimless hands-

 

" See? I told you, it was the bait! "

 

And he just can't stop a  _chuckle-_

 

" Oh, it's not just the _bait..._ "

 

The look Javier fits him with is in equal parts warm and _warning_ and it shuts him up for now, ties his tongue from continuing on his self-deprecating journey in an effort to _please._ To keep the lively excitement about the other's features- how _unwilling_ he was to be the reason for it to slip away. _Desperate_ to keep the musician with him, _enjoying his company,_ like so few seemed to genuinely do, in his eyes anyway. He was only good on the battlefield, amongst the smoke and blood, and that was all he was ever needed for. To be the _butcher,_ unyielding and inflexible and _hard,_ never an inch of softness allowed beside the times some of the women had managed to convince him to come sit and talk with them.

 

_i've been a bad man._

 

That was the truth, but Arthur was so, so _desperate_ to keep that look on Javier's face that spoke that he  _wasn't._ And it made his heart beat,  
_  
beat,_

_beat_ , and his fingers began their shivery jerkiness along the pole in his hand, dancing with their _itchiness,_ and he decides he simply can't let himself fester with this anymore. Delicately puts his rod away, waving away the concerned curiosity the other murmured, and settled down on the rocks to pull out his journal and pencil. Thumbs the pages to something _blank,_ a canvas all his own, and set to work with whittled charcoal in his fingers to _sketch._

 

" Hey, what are you doing? "

 

There is a note of _worry,_ almost, in the tone of voice directed at him. But the cowboy was too far gone now to play it back, simply waving it away with a nonchalant shrug,

 

" Jus'... keep doing what you're doing. "

 

There is a _crackle_ in the energy again, just the two of them as the sunset dappled stripes across their bodies through the trees, but Arthur doesn't react to it openly.  _Can't._ He's not allowed to. Those things are not for _him._ All he can do is hope to sketch out his frustrations, his  _enamoring,_ his _pining,_ and hope to whatever deity that's presiding over him will see it fit to release him of his  _suffering._ And he drinks in Javier's acquiesce like a shot of whiskey, watching with an artist's keen as the man turned back around to focus back on the pond, a pile of fish already pooled up at his feet. 

A _scratch_ here, a _line there._

 _Shading_ along the strong jaw, smudged with the hints of stubble long-since shaved down to the skin.

Delicately _tracing_ the side profile, _notches_ in the nose bridge, _filling out_ the plushness of lips pursed in concentration and accentuated by characteristic mustache.

 _Etching_ the stark, heavy lines of the brow, the bright-dark of his eyes enraptured in focus.

Long _strokes_ of shoulders, line of the _spine,_ details along the vest and the impression of veins tracing along the forearms, shirt rolled up to the elbows.

 _Detailing_ the thick leather of the belt wrapped 'round his hips, the creases of his jeans.

Carefully _illustrating_ all of the minute details of the leathered boots, keen to replicate the pure polished splendor of the gold toes-

 _Dandelions.  
_  
Arthur's countenance was broken at the swimming of the flowers in his vision, the pleasant, numbing _thrum_ in his mind stuttering briefly. There is a clutch of the weeds halfway between them, soaking in the last rays of sunshine spilling from over the hill as darkness leeched into the sky, stars beginning to hint between the arching foliage of the canopy. Healthy-green and with saturated-yellow petals, small and _sweet,_ and it draws on what fondness he had in his heart. Guided his fingers into the margins of the page, carefully sketching in the arching, caterpillar-bitten leaves along the sides even as darkness shrouded them.

Blossoms, over and over, twined about the paper and it conjured the image of _the knife.  
_  
And the left-over space of his canvas began to take a different shape- stark, _hard-edged,_ and yet he's embarked on the journey of  _details._ To recall the flowers from memory- roses blooming just above the sturdy handle, vines spilling into lilies, lilac sprigs creating the bridge to the yarrow blossoms, all pouring into those beautiful petals he liked so much. He spent the most time on them, lost in the clouds of his memories, carefully piecing through the shards he had of the _knife_ and replicating the drip of dandelions at the tip, spindling off the blade. It's a beautiful recreation, if anything of his can even be close to considered _average,_ and some part of his plods with some little, tiny piece of _joy_ at his capabilities-

Oh, _Javier-  
_  
Arthur almost shocks himself when his eyes trail up the page to revisit his recreation of the musician. It's... _breathtaking,_ almost as detailed as a picture taken, and he feels his throat _close_ at the image he now had forever imprinted in his journal. And it closes tighter still when he looks at it and finds his pining  _unsatiated._ He's left _wanting,_ even more than before, at the gorgeous imagery that his own fingers had pieced together. This had never happened before. The feelings had always, _always_ gone away after he'd drawn, after he'd traced the lines and with them, let all his emotions go. Now, they're even more sunken-in, _bone-deep,_ and his breath whispers in a shaky _pant._ Feels the clouds pour into his head again, but much stronger and _heady_ now, instead of the uplifting delicacy of his usual artistic throughs-

 

" You want them? "

 

The question startles him into jerking up, searching for the dark silhouette now much, _much closer_ to his spot on the rocks. Javier is crouched against the ground, putting himself in the older's vision, with his fingertips delicately tracing the dandelion petals like a tiny bird beneath his strength. Soft touches and his _eyes_ are so black, even in the night blanket that had befallen them, riveted upon the cowboy and Arthur can only blink stupidly for a few moments. Lucky for him, the other seems _patient_ tonight, and allows him to gather his thoughts, to pull himself back to the ground,

 

" What? "

 

His voice sounds distant, even to his own ears, like they're being spoken and heard underwater. Briefly wondered what it would be like to simply dunk himself beneath the pool's surface and drown the thoughts away, the way that he was _struggling_ to contain himself at the seams. The tree _could not bend._ Could not _break._ Could not _flinch._ He couldn't, he _had to be Arthur Morgan-_

 

" The flowers. You want them? "

 

There is something like _amusement_ that barely hues the voice back at him, but more than anything, it sounds so... _sincere._ Stating the obvious again, like there was nothing special about asking the stag such a question. And said man was utterly _enraptured_ in the simplicity of the query, and how something about it made his poor heart _shiver_ beneath his breastbone. It _hurt._ Barely manages to speak around the lump in his throat, shrugging lopsided and struggling to spit words out,

 

" _Uh._ Ah, sure. Thanks. "

 

Better than nothing. And Javier shifts and the moonlight catches _, catches,_ on the silvery beauty of _his knife,_ and Arthur's breath stops altogether at the way it moves like smooth white fire. Stares at the musician's calloused fingers handle it so _delicately,_ so _well,_ like he was simply dipping into an extension of himself. Made it look so _effortless, so beautiful,_ in the way he so carefully siphoned the weeds at the root, picking off the leaves as he collected a handful of the burst-headed blooms. He moves with all the grace of a cougar, near-silent footfalls to Arthur's spot before he crouched again, leaning over the other, and if he can see how the man's breathing was _too quiet, too controlled,_ he didn't say anything. Simply _smiled,_ gaze crinkling at the edges with the sincerity of it, as he held them out between them, _waiting._

It's when Arthur reaches for them, every breath intaking the cigarette smoke and whiskey-scent and _fruit,_ that he realizes he's no longer covering his journal page from prying eyes.

Realizes Javier sees the drawings a second too late.

 

" Is that... me? "

 

 _Fuck, he can't breathe-_

Not with the other crouched _over_ his crossed legs, air puffing across his face on every word. And it takes him a long moment to swallow, to tangle his shivering fingers with the thick green of the stems in his hands, pressing them to the crease of the journal and momentarily delighting in how he'd captured their realism almost _perfectly-_

 

" Uh... yeah. Sorry. I don't mean nothin' by it, swear. It just helps me think. "

 

Javier considers him for a long moment, his own fingers thumbing across a small little stalk nearest to him, and seems to weigh his options as Arthur looked away from him. Looked _down_ at the beautiful man on his page to avoid facing the beautiful man _in front of him,_ but it does nothing to soothe him. Does nothing to stop the tree's _creaking,_ bark _shuddering_ with the threat of _breaking._ He can taste the electricity on his tongue, on every intake of breath he took as he tenderly thumbed the stems resting in his lap.

 _Beat, beat-_

 

" Were you thinking about me? "

 

 _Oh, for Christ's sake-_

The question damn near bowls him over and Arthur has to shut his eyes _tight_ to fight against the fluttering rising heavy and sharp in his chest, painful like he's inhaling ice-cold water every second. _It hurts, hurts._ But there is nothing he can do about it now, not like this. Javier has him effectively trapped, unable to escape, and there is not a thing he can do that will make him any less _suspicious_ than he already is. He'd long since come to terms with his interests in men and women- but _others. Others_ didn't always have the same ideas. He'd heard more than his fair-share of men, even those in the gang, spitting commentary about the _faggots and queers_ in the world- nothing nice, nothing kind, even by their standards.

And he is _so desperate_ not to break this apart. To shatter the bridge between him and Javier. And he's _so afraid_ that no matter what he said, he was going to. Was going to _ruin everything-  
_

 

" That's a nice picture of my knife. Very good. "

 

He can hardly suck in enough air to keep himself _alive-_

  


" What's the name of this flower in English? "

 

... What?

The change in topic made his ears perk, the gentle tone coaxing his eyes to rise to look at the musician who had yet to move from being less than an inch from pressing against him. Finds that the man _isn't looking at him,_ instead having caught a stem between his forefingers and twirling it delicately, studying the sprays of petals struck silver-and-grey in the darkness. And Arthur is momentarily struck with the immense realization that Javier _could tell his distress_ and was trying to redirect it. To push him towards a topic he was more comfortable with.

The  _genuine care,_ the thoughtless _caring,_ made his stomach do a terrible, painful _swoop_ and he almost can't manage to get the word out,

 

" Dandelion. "

 

Javier made a quiet noise of approval, smiling to himself, as he then turned and so-carefully placed the stem back amongst the pages, joining it with its family collection. His gaze is half-lidded on Arthur's face when he looks up and they're both _locked_ into staring, but it feels soft. Doesn't feel _pressuring_ when the musician continues, black eyes carefully tracing the edges and scars of the cowboy, and although it feels like he's being picked apart and scalped all at once, the stag doesn't look away-

 

"  _Diente de león_ , in Spanish. But _dandelion_ sounds nice too. You like these flowers? "

 

What is he _trying to get at?_

No one had ever asked Arthur questions like this.

No one had ever considered that a man like him, a _butcher_ and a _criminal_ and an _outlaw,_ could ever have a favorite flower.

 

" Yeah. They're _weeds,_ but I still... they're... my favorite, if you can believe. "

 

 

The answer seems to please Javier, for some reason or another, in the way his gaze _sparkled_ in approval and the smile tilting his lips _softened_ sweetly. It's a wonderful, _beautiful_ look, and Arthur feels like every second passing is dragging a red-hot iron dagger into his heart, melting his bones and tearing his lungs to shreds, burning his flesh. It hurts in a _good way,_ and he feels so pitiful and pathetic and so _blessed_ at the same time. To see the way Javier's head tilted, like he was now privy to some secret blessing, and _a hand raised-_

 _The knife._ It's still in the musician's hand, though the etched blade is facing towards the smaller, and the palm steadies the handle as it approaches Arthur's face in some nonchalant manner. The wood and leather lightly traced his temple, convincing his blonde locks to shuffle behind his ears, just like they'd done those years ago. That memory that still stood _so starkly_ in his mind, branded into the back of his skull for all eternity, whether he wanted it or not. And the hard tip followed down his cheekbone, down the length of his cheek, before it found purchase beneath his chin in the soft skin beneath the bone and _tilted up._ And he was powerless to do anything but _obey_ the unspoken command to _look up,_ for Javier to assess every inch of. As those dark eyes scattered over his face, his _expression,_ as though looking for something, he speaks in words lowered to a _whisper,_

 

" I like that. My favorite are _roses._ Flowers of  _love._ A feeling we can't forget. "

 

It sounds so much like something Dutch would say that it makes Arthur _smile_ , just a bit amused, and he does not miss the way Javier's eyes follow the movement settle, remained riveted upon his lips. 

The _undercurrent_ again, throbbing between them and in the tips of his fingers with the beat of his heart, so _aware_ of his arteries and veins pulsing blood-

Javier is moving, _moving,_ from where he'd balanced on the balls of his feet to fall to his knees, quiet and unassuming. His thighs bracket Arthur's on the ground, pressing flush that the cowboy can feel the _heat_ of the other's skin through the fabric of their jeans, and he can feel his heart jump into his throat-

He's not stopping, _not pausing-_

The knife is removed from beneath his chin but he doesn't dare move from the position it had propped him into, not when the younger man was now leaning above him, right in his line of sight. Balanced atop him, in his lap, and looking utterly _gorgeous_ and _breathtaking_ and Arthur's swallow is _dry_ and _painful_ as the beat of his heart keeping him alive. Some fingers let go of the handle to press against the stubbled flesh of his cheek, the free hand filling with the other side of his face, keeping him _still_ with the barest hint of _pressure._ And Arthur wants it to stop, eyes widening and beginning to _pull away_ just as Javier's lips brush as gentle and sweet as flower petals against his. And he's _suspended_ in his panicking flee, unable to get away, as the warmth invades his senses and he's _lost, floundering,_ in the sensation he'd denied himself for as long as he'd been aware of its possibility.

They're kissing, _they're kissing._

Words whispered quiet against his lips,

 

" _Arthur._ I said I'd show you some of my tricks, didn't I? Do you _want me to?_ "

 

Fingertips gentle _knead_ his skin, soothing him immensely compared to how he felt he should be at the moment, as the question hangs like crystalized fog between them. Visualized, permeable, and Arthur can't believe what's happening, and perhaps that's why Javier is going _so easy_ on him. Doing nothing but being _soothing,_ being _calming_ and _encouraging_ like he's talking down a spooked stallion from fleeing. Fingers clutch at empty space at his sides, so _desperate, so wanting,_ to touch the man hovering over him and yet _held back._

 _He wants. He wants what he shouldn't have._

But Javier is looking at him like all of this is _real._ Like he's not upset, like he's not envisioning something bad or terrible. Like he doesn't have something painful in mind for him, like he is asking a  _genuine question._

He's so _tired_ of being _Arthur Morgan_ at that moment. Choking on his words, shivering minutely beneath the press of the other's body against his, looking down at the journal he could hardly see anymore like the answer would be in there _somewhere_ -

 

" I-... you did, with the fish... "

 

It's a flimsy excuse and they both know it. 

The musician simply tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing and studying, as the whisper of his calloused skin against the handle of the knife _rasped_ in Arthur's ear. Turning, _turning_ the blade to face the cowboy, the cold press of the metal to his skin like a _burn_ branding into the side of his face where it lay its inlaid silver. It trailed, _trailing,_ so delicate and fine and _teasing_ along the sensitive skin of his jawline, and he's reduced to nothing but _shivery panting_ and wide eyes, paralyzed in place as he peered through the corner of his eye at the flash. _God,_ it... _it felt good,_ to have those etched flowers caressing him, with the sharpened tip _just_ pressing beneath his chin again.

 

" That's not what I mean't. "

 

Waiting, _waiting, so patiently._ The dagger never leaves, it _remains,_ pressed beneath the bone and _holding,_ keeping Arthur from fleeing back into the recesses of his own mind. Somewhere along the trail, his hands had found Javier's hips, barely a press but the feeling of _solidity_ beneath his palms seemed to soothe. And, lucky for him, the smaller appeared to have miles' worth of  _patience_ for the aching,  _suffering_ man beneath him.

His heart is _beating, beating out of his chest-_

Everything is on _fire_ and he's grateful for the cooler breeze that rasps over their skin through the treeline, and he is suddenly so very aware of the fact that they are _alone._ There was no way for anyone to spot them from the road and it was far enough into the trees, a grove of sorts, that he doubted anyone would be traipsing down their hill anytime soon. Dutch wouldn't look for them, that was for _damn sure._

 _Perfectly alone and together._

It hurts. But he can't help it, the _wanting-_

 

" Yeah. "

 

It's all Arthur can choke out in the moment, gripping _tighter_ at the studded belt beneath his fingertips, focusing on the soft leather beneath the pads instead of the beautiful knife still against his skin and _flooding_ his veins with an arousal far past what he'd ever felt before. It's so much, _too much-_ and Javier just seems to want to carry him through it. Leans forward, again and again, as he so _carefully_ kept the knife in place as they _kissed._

 _Over and over._

  
It feels so _freeing._ To let the other take over, to let in the slick feeling of _tongue_ against his lips to be inside his mouth, twining together, hot and wet. They're both out of breath but they don't stop, not once. It's just press after _press_ and Arthur is hardly aware of the other's free hand shuffling his journal out of his lap because the man's _full weight_ replaces it, warmth spreading through his blood at the sensation and he's _gasping, gasping-_ The blade had _moved,_ tracing the cartilage of his throat, dipping into the hollows of his collarbones beneath his shirt, and _holding._

Just to watch him _squirm._ To hear him whisper out a soft, quiet noise, to feel his fingers _tighten_ and his breathing _shiver_ and _wind him up_ into new heights he'd never imagined he'd ever be allowed to have.

Feels _good_ when the sharpened flank tapped once, twice, at the top button, a clear _order_ that he finds himself damn near _scrambling_ to obey. He's _so hot, so hot,_ and Javier looks _gorgeous_ above him, all dark lines and edges and yet, with a soft, burning _heat_ in the pitch of his eyes. Like seeing Arthur like this is _all he's ever wanted,_ and the cowboy has never felt so desired and _wanted_ in his whole life as his shaking fingers undid each button, one after the other. Each punctuated with a _click_ of the blade against the plastic, down, _down, down..._

It's Javier's hand, calloused and _burning,_ that shuffles the rest of the cloth off his shoulders and through his suspenders, falling lax to hang from his jeans in the motion. Bare-chested is nothing new to him, not even to the musician, but in _this situation,_ baring his skin feels _very different._ Especially as _lips_ latch to the hot-cold trail the blade had left along his throat, teeth _nipping_ along the sensitive flesh, coaxing purple to _bloom_ like flowers against the veins. 

 

" Very _good, flor._ Relax, you're doing so well. "

 

 _God,_ he almost _chokes_ on his own tongue, but manages a shaky smile and some kind of _laugh_ in his throat, stuttering and short-lived as tongue and teeth littered down his sternum, bending him _back._ Powerless against the brushes of affection and fondness against his skin, whimpering a _moan_ at the back of his throat at a particular _dig_ against his stomach just as the knife _rested_ the flat of its blade against his groin. The _sensation_ has him shaking all over, the way Javier's mouth _smiles_ against his flesh a burning realization in his head.

The musician is _pleased_ with him.

And damn, that's a powerful thought to be infused with. Especially when Javier leaned back on his haunches, expression open and wanton and _wanting_ for the man near splayed out beneath him, dagger carefully shifting back and forth, _back and forth._ Watches Arthur's brows furrow, watches him drop his chin to his chest and shudder out exhales, like he can't get enough _air,_ as the muscles in the cowboy's thighs _tensed_ and started to shift restless against the ground. Desperate, _desperate,_ and the way he murmurs a quiet _noise_ just seems to fuel the smaller,

 

" _Dios,_ you look _so good like this, Arthur._  Buen chico. "

 

The praise is like refreshing water through his ears, flush heady and heavy along his face, practically glowing in the darkness and the glint of the moonlight down across them. And the stag _loves it._ Likes being this way- not being _in control, all the time._ It feels freeing to sit back and _gasp_ as his gaze followed the line of Javier's body, resting on the way his cock imprinted through his tight jeans. _Hard, just as much as Arthur was._ And he can hardly keep up with all the swirling sensations in his head when the musician follows his gaze, hand exploring exposed, tensed muscles _leaving_ for a moment to _rub_ at the filled crease.

Shudders a _smile_ when Arthur followed the movement like a dog looking for a treat, gaze going half-lidded and _wanton,_ and it seems to kick the smaller into action. He's off the body beneath him in the next instant, standing dark and imperceivably _tall_ , gesturing clear and clean with the dagger in his hand for Arthur to _sit up._ Beckons him forward,  _forward,_ until the stag is on his knees in front of him, nose level to his crystalline belt, and their eyes lock with _recognition._ And Javier gets that _odd look_ in the glint of his gaze again, staring down at the big, mean cowboy now subdued and quiet at his feet.

Desperate wanting is a _good look_ on them both.

While the knife remains apart from his skin, Arthur can't help but follow its commands as it twitched towards Javier's belt, words murmured slick and hot over his head-

 

" Unbuckle my belt, unzip my pants. "

 

 _Christ,_ this was really happening, wasn't it?

Arthur hesitates, _hesitates,_ until a shift of the hipbones almost against his nose makes the dagger flash silver at the edge of his vision. A _reminder._ And the cowboy obeys, slow and unsure and _anxious,_ but obeying nonetheless. Presses fingers into the leather again, fondling at the buckle and soaking in the sound of the _clink_ as the gold slipped undone beneath his deft flicks. Slips his fingers beneath the lip of the jeans, unbuttoning and pulling down the zipper like it was going to attack him if he wasn't careful. Gets curious, bull-headed and unrefined, as the padded tips caress the sliver of satin skin exposed to him, prepared to _pull down,_ until the knife is pressed quick and confident to his cheek and there are ragged whispers pouring into him.

 

" I didn't say you could do more. "

 

Oh, _oh boy._ The idea of being given _orders,_ of _not being in control,_ makes him beyond anxious. Nervous, _nervous,_ as he glanced at the dagger and then up at Javier's dark eyes, admonishing and _steady._ It was very clear who _was_ in control, but the stag just couldn't go down easy. He couldn't, he _can't,_ but he's so lost and out-of-his-element that he obeys without question this time. What else was he to do? And as he relaxed his fingers and balanced them back in his lap again, ridges briefly pressing against his own cock through his jeans, the knife pulled away from him.

And Javier _watches, watches him,_ and even without the blade, his voice speaks of _authority_ as a boot lifted to _rest_ against his hands, stilling the stimulating movements-

 

" Didn't say you could do that, either. "

 

Arthur lip _curled,_ unease prickling beneath his skin, as he forced himself to _stop._ To _acquiesce._ And follows the twitch of the knife again, tracing the flowers and vines, as it beckoned him back forward, _forward. Waits._ Made to _wait._ As a brief silence stretched between them, nothing but their panting breaths and shuffles to be heard, the musician spoke again, delicately coaxing,

 

" _Now_ you can pull down. Both hands. "

 

Ah, _fuck._ Javier looks beautiful _everywhere,_ it would seem, even his cock that is bared to his eyes as his fingers dragged the rough fabric down to the musician's thighs, lying open and _bare._ And Arthur stares, _stares,_ for a long moment before he comes to himself and looks away, fidgeting as he looked down at the foliage-covered ground beneath his knees. Gasping, _gasping,_ as he muttered a _growl_ between them-

 

" I don't- I've never... done this on someone else. I don't know... "  
_how to please you._

 

Trailed off, self-conscious and _pained,_ but Javier's warm palm against his face coaxes him back up again to _meet,_ those blackened eyes soft and sweet and _patient_ despite their position and the electric taste of the energy between them. There is a _smile_ curling those lips, ones he longed to kiss again, and he finds comfort in the lack of judgement in it. It seems... _nice,_ in the way a thumb traced his cheekbone with a reverence, like Arthur was _worth something,_ and the knife remained limp and hanging at his flank,

 

" Well, that's where my teaching comes in. "

 

There is a wryness to the state, a dry humor, that makes the cowboy huff a laugh through his maw, shaking his head like he couldn't believe this was happening. Because he _couldn't believe it._ Had never, in a million years, ever though he'd be settled here, prepared and ready to do something like this. 

It's _a lot, a lot,_ and his skin burns and he's already sweating. But Javier hardly looks any better and for that, the stag takes some comfort in that the musician looks just a bit _nervous_ as well. A glimmer of the young man who'd been fishing with him on the rocks, looking like he was entirely unsure how far Arthur could handle his _orders.  
_  
It would seemed he could handle _well,_ so far.

 

" It's just like on yourself, different angle. Hand on the base, up and down, you know this part. "

 

 _This part._

Was there a _next?_ Not one he knew of, but Arthur wasn't about to question it at the moment. Moved to _obey_ instead, spitting into his own hand, calloused palm wrapping tight and snug around the throbbing length in front of his nose, feeling the veins _twitch_ along the velvet-covered hardness at the touch. Watches the way Javier's lower abdomen muscles _twitch, tensing_ just a touch, as his slicked fingers rub up and down, _up and down,_ and it really is just like on himself. Twists along the heat, thumb rubbing _pressure_ just beneath the sensitive head in a way that had Javier's hand _clenching_ around his knife, the other swiping into Arthur's hair and _holding._ A light pressure, nails scratching delicate against his scalp, and he feels the chills run up and down his own spine at the tingling sensation.

Feels _good_ when he can hear the musician's breathing pick up, panting loud in the quiet space of their togetherness, moaning dark as a thumb dug into his slit. It's a _beautiful_ sound and Arthur can't help but purr deep in his chest at the noise, at the way Javier's fingers _tensed_ in his hair, twitching and shivering-

It's abruptly _ended_ when a command rings clear over his head,

 

" Enough. Hand off. "

 

He does what he's told, hand sliding _slow_ off the length just to watch Javier's brows  _furrow_ at the teasing gesture, teeth glinting in the light as he placed both hands on Arthur's head, delicately keeping the dagger from stabbing down. Tugged him _hard_ forward, forcing him into needing to rest his palms against the hot thighs in front of him, something like _surprise_ rising in his expression. Hesitates, _hesitates,_ and he's about to say something when words settle like a whiplash over him back,

 

" Open your mouth. "

 

Arthur _hovers_ in space, tied into obeying and _not._ Fuck, he can only _imagine_ the kinds of things Javier has in store for him, and the concept makes a mixture of arousal and fluttery panic rise in his stomach. Tightens his throat, shortens his breath, as he seeks the other's eyes and _holds_ at the impenetrable expression he stares into. Has to close his eyes to escape it, resting his forehead pathetically against a thigh as he tried to desperately reign in his breathing.

He's _hot, hot all over-_

Fingers _tightened,_ almost enough to _hurt,_ as the knife in the smaller's hand _glints in his vision._ But he can't see where it goes, can't see it, but he can _feel it._ Can feel when the sharpened flank _edges_ into his skin, _just hard enough_ to draw a bead of blood along the flesh, and it makes something akin to adrenaline rise in Arthur's throat. He wants to _leave- he can't do this-_ he's not supposed to _have this._ He's not allowed to have something like this in his life. He was meant to simply suffer and agonize in silence, _alone,_ and forget all about it when he woke in the mornings after desperate dreams of _elsewise._

His fingers _shake_ on Javier's legs, _betrays him,_ as the hands wound in his hair prevent him from _escaping._ From _fleeing._ But more than anything, he's kept still and stationary at the softer words whispered down into his ear where Javier had leaned down, calloused fingertips rubbing soothing into his scalp again as he gentled the burn of the flesh wound between the big man's shoulderblades with soft pats of his unoccupied fingers,

 

" Arthur, _Arthur, it's okay._ I'm not going to hurt you. I just need you to trust me, okay? You're doing _so well, flor, so well._ I'm so proud of you for this. "

 

Oh, it sounds so close to _pleading_ that Arthur can only moan pathetically and sigh heavily, shoulders dropping from their tensed, hard lines. Feels the swell of _Arthur Morgan_ wanting to bubble beneath his skin, desperate to _take control again,_ but he is so _tired of it._ Doesn't _want_ to retake anything. Not when Javier was offering to help him _so freely._

 _He can._

Opens his mouth haltingly, peering up at Javier again with an impatient _wait_ in his gaze, feeling utterly indulged in the way the musician leaned down to press sweet, delicate kisses against his forehead and brows. Purrs quiet against the cowboy's face, soothing praise into his ears, as he sat back and grabbed hold of the larger man's jawbone. Guided him _forward_ again, keeping his lips _spread,_ as he holstered the silver dagger and deigned to work merely with his hands.

Knew Arthur would follow orders regardless of the knife.

And the obedient cowboy could only _watch_ as Javier took hold of something, hipbones _shifting,_ as his thumb worked soothing circles into the hard-edged jaw beneath his hand and _coaxed._ And all Arthur can do is _accept,_ fall pliant and  _submissive,_ in the sensation of the head of Javier's cock pressing into his mouth. It doesn't take him long to configure his mouth into something  _accommodating,_ letting the hot thickness pulse along his tongue as it shifted forward, _down,_ in gentle presses. A thumb soothed into the side of his throat, encouraging it to _relax_ as the musician pushed just that bit _deeper,_ and it has the stag's breath whistling through his nose.

He's not afraid, nor does it hurt. Not with Javier's voice teaching him how to _move,_ how to purse his lips and _suck_ in a way that makes the musician's muscles _jerk_ and his breath to shudder all over the place, frenzied and _just as desperate_ , thumbs coaching his throat into relaxing so the smaller could press _just that bit deeper._ And Arthur finds power in  _pleasing_ the other man, doing what he told him to do. Felt _good_ to be praised over and over again, whispered words of comfort as fingers purchased in his hair and _held_ so Javier could _push, push with his hips._

 

" Oh, _Dios,_ such a... a _good boy. Buen chico, buen chico._ You're doing so _well, so good,_ my flower. Beautiful, you're so... so  _pretty_ like this. Muy bien. Just a little bit more, just a bit more, _flor._ "

  
Over and _over,_ thickness pulsating in his maw, and it feels _good_ to him in some way, even as his flush deepens into what feels like a brand into his face at the praise floating over him. To see the shivers in Javier's abdomen, the way his breath began to hiccup and _hitch-  
_  
One press, two, _three-  
_  
Hips shift back and there is a salty bitterness roping over Arthur's tongue, body going stiff just as the man hovering above him _moaned,_ deep and stuttering, as he released in the other's mouth. Pulsing _again and again,_ and it coats over him and he finds his throat _working, working,_ milking the younger for all he was worth. It's not the best taste but he can't imagine spitting it up as Javier stilled for a moment before _pulling back,_ a pearled string of cum-slicked _saliva_ connecting the tip to Arthur's lips, drool pouring down the sides of his maw. But before he can do anything, _anything,_ Javier's voice breathlessly _orders,_

 

" _Hold._ Hold it in your mouth on my count. Then you can spit. "

 _ _  
Follows the tap, _tap, tap_ , of Javier's fingers against his own thigh. Counting down- 1, 2, 3... _down, down, down_ , and Arthur's throat started to _quiver_ in desperation. For that final _order._ The last _command._ Made to wait, wait, made to _obey,_ and he has to take a steadying breath through his nose as the musician's hand gave a gesture towards him, _allowance._ Watches with pleased eyes as the cowboy turned to deftly spit into the ground, white dribbling thick and slick from his lips, spittle he can't quite get _out-___

 _ _ _Turns,_ bleary-eyed and hazy, as Javier tugged his bandana off his own neck, a flash of red-orange silk in the moonlight as he delicately dabbed the cowboy's maw clean, like nothing had ever happened aside from the ache in his jaw and the swollen _vermillion_ of his lips. And they _settle_ for a moment or so, the musician's hands exploring his scalp with gentle touches, praise filtering into his ear on every _breath_ and he's _so hot and so hard-  
_  
__

 

" _Oh, Arthur._ You did so well, so good for me. _Thank you._ Good boys get _rewards, you know._ "

 

There is a fiery _glint_ to the smaller's eye as Arthur looked up at him, puzzling through the expression as best he can, trying to pay attention to it instead of the  _throbbing_ of his own cock still trapped in his jeans. It _hurts_ and he's _so thickened,_ desperate and _wanting,_ and he can only mutter quietly when kisses are pressed all over his cheekbones and a hand pushes him to the ground. He goes _easy,_ sprawling on his back in the dirt and leaves, as Javier settled between his weak legs, palms smoothing down the heated thighs bracketing his as he leaned _down, down._

These kisses are _bright and soft,_ like coming _home_ after a long journey, and Arthur can't help the _purrs_ in his throat at the loving sensations. At the delicate way he was treated, like he was something  _more_ than the butchering _outlaw_ everyone else treated him like. And he was _free. Free_ to _react_ to it. To not have to be the strong, inflexible _tree,_ the _trunk_ of the gang that quite frankly was the only reason it hadn't broken down already. He could _bend here,_ in the way his back _arched_ as Javier pressed heated kisses and tongue down his body, nails scratching teasing and _light_ along his flanks.

Desperate, _so desperate for it-_

 _Whines,_ low and quiet in the back of his throat, and it seems to catch the musician's attention and Arthur just can't be damned to be  _embarrassed by it._ He's so far gone, so _deep_ in the burning smoke and boiling blood, and the look of his no-doubt debauched and _wrecked_ expression seemed to fester under Javier's skin. Pushes him into _moving_ and Arthur is dragged under the tidal wave of emotion as fingers practically rip his jeans down, teeth settled in his throat as hot, calloused palms take his cock in-hand. Wrings _gasping, shaking breaths-_

Oh, it feels good, _it feels good._

To _let go_ like this, in the middle of the woods with only the two of them together.

He's _so close,_ sucking Javier off had seemed to set himself off a lot more than he'd thought it would. Musing, he wondered about all he'd been missing _out on_ by _denying himself_ the simple pleasures of the touch of someone who _cared about him._ He'd never felt this way with Mary. Not with Eliza. Not with anyone or anything but the man who was rubbing his tongue in the corner of the cowboy's jaw, praise hot and heavy in his ear as the fingers twisted, _twisted-_

 

" Good boy, _so good-_ "

 

Arthur's muscles began to twitch, _jerk,_ and every part of his body coiled like a _spring. Tight, so tight,_ as Javier's hand remained  _unrelenting_ and merciless, dragging _hard_ against the sensitive skin and catapulting him into the _clouds-_

 

" So good for me, so good. Almost there, mi querido, _almost-_ "

 

He is, _he is-_

Fingers curl into _claws,_ hanging on to Javier's shoulders for dear life, unable to stop the gasps and whimpers and _moans_ that bubbled from his lips at every touch. At the way a thumb dug into his sensitive head, the other fondling his chest _hard_ before slipping further into his jeans, cupping his balls and _tugging, squeezing,_ and Arthur is _so gone-_

 

" Almost, _almost,_ hang on to me, _flor._ Let me give this to you. "

 

He's never been so hard in his _life_ and its to the point of _painful,_ but his abdomen is _jerking_ and there is energy sizzling beneath his skin, cooking him alive with every stroke. Fire lapped and licked at his insides as Javier's hands suddenly _sped up, harder and harder,_ and he can only manage a choked _plea-_

 

" Javier, _please._ "

 

The beg seems to settle in Javier's chest in the way he _gasped,_ a gentle moan murmuring into the stag's ear, as his fingers clenched _impossibly tight-_

 _Again and again-  
_

 

" Go ahead, you don't need to ask. This is a _reward,_ I want you to- "

  
And Arthur is _gone_ with that last command, everything in his world _shattering._ Arching his back, his entire body _shuddered_ with the wave that bubbled up from inside him, centered around the way the musician tugged him through it. Led him through wave after wave of pleasure coursing through his veins, groaning loud and _open_ into the quiet night air as he came. White splattered over his chest, held down by Javier's deft hand, and he's shaking _terribly_ in the other's embrace-

 

" Oh, there we go, there we go, _flor. Eres tan hermosa._ So pretty, _so good, mi amor._ You did so well, so good... "

 

Words trailed into quiet pants and shared kisses, lips pressing soft and sweet against one another as they both floated back down to the ground. Back to their little sanctuary amongst the trees, the sound of the trickling pond filtering back through the ring in Arthur's ears, relaxing against the dirt again as he fought to regain his breath. Gasps falling to gentled breaths, calmed and relaxed and _satiated,_ as Javier used his bandana to quickly wipe him down and tuck them both away. Careful in returning Arthur's shirt to him, helping his shaking hands to button it back up again and replace his suspenders, and it _almost_ looks like nothing had happened, aside from the fact they both were disheveled and kiss-swollen and _hazy._

The stag _purred_ quiet when Javier's nose nudged into his throat, relaxing  _together_ where they'd sat up, coiling in one another's embrace, sharing heartbeats and _emotion._

 

" That was... _eventful._ "

 

Arthur's voice is _hoarse_ but in the rasping way that made the musician _twitch_ against him, moaning a _sigh_ into the strong chest he'd rested against, as he murmured back just as quiet and subdued,

 

" Yes it was. You okay? "

The genuine _care_ in the statement had the cowboy chuckling low, _his_ hands now the ones to coax the other into _vision,_ so he could _smile_ broad down at him,

 

" Yeah, 'm good. Think I needed that. "

 

It was true. He'd never felt so light in... _years._ Couldn't imagine a single memory of when he'd last _been_ as relaxed as he was now, entangled with the man he loved most in the world. And the _thought,_ though mildly _worrying,_ couldn't tug him into insecurities and anxieties. Not when Javier _smiled_ up at him, pressing their lips together, as words whispered across their mouths,

 

" _Te amo, Arthur._ I really do. And I know... this may all be a bit... _much,_ but I want to be here for you like you've always been for me. Do you want that? Want _me?_ "

 

It's a heavy question, but the cowboy doesn't feel the _pressure_ on his shoulders this time. Not this time. And he can only smile, warm and _relaxed,_ as he brushed their noses together-

 

" ... I aint know much Spanish, but I know what that meant. Me too, for you. I do want you, have wanted you for a while now. Thought by drawin' you, all the feelin's would go away but, as you can see... "

 

A sweeping gesture to their bodies, prompting them both to _laugh,_ true and sincere, as they kissed again and _again_ before deciding fit they were both able to stand and return to camp. It was a quiet ride through the still night, aside from the few times Javier prompted Boaz to the side just so that there calves would brush together- charming Arthur into staring at him, into _laughing._ It's _so nice,_ the warmest the cowboy had felt in _years,_ and it's so welcome that he feels almost teary-eyed over it.

That he was _freed._

When they returned to camp, not a single soul thought it odd that they'd taken so long. They dismounted with their catch of fish, depositing it on Mr. Pearson's table for the next morn', and turned to peer out into the lake stretching for miles in front of them. A pretty sight, and when Arthur was certain no one was looking, he stole a kiss from the musician beside him, watching him jerk into a _smile_ at the sensation. Made them both feel _younger_ than they were, _better_ than they were. It was a new feeling, to be _walked_ to his own tent, settling relaxed and _tired_ against his cot. Watched, _watched,_ as Javier lit a cigarette and took a few gentle puffs before handing it off to Arthur's fingers, the foreign sweet-smell unique to the musician and so _welcomed_ into his lungs on every breath. Felt _good, relaxing-  
_

 

" ... Going to have to wash this myself. "

 

 

Deft fingers held the orange scarf between them, hanging _thickened_ and oddly-patterned, and Arthur could only drop his head to  _flush_ at the visual, grumbling the little, barking laughs Javier burred. Lapsed back to comfortable _silence,_ the stag thumbing open his journal to see the dandelions still where he'd pressed them, Javier's portrait and knife etched _beautiful_ in the page. Didn't lean away when the musician peered towards his lap where he'd taken a standing lean against the table of his lean-to, collecting the cigarette from Arthur's fingers for a final draw before putting it out with the flash of his boots,

 

" I meant it, that's a real good drawing. "

 

The compliment, one that might've burned him a few hours earlier, now simply settled genuine and good in the bottom of his heart, made Arthur _smile_ warm in the sickly oil-light. In the silence of camp, no one around but them and Uncle passed out drunk by the fire, Javier leaned down to press a sweet kiss to his lips.

Nice, _nice..._

And instead of feeling the rise of panic, of _pain and suffering,_ of the idea that he _didn't deserve it,_ the cowboy only felt _safe._ Felt free and weightless and _warmed_ in all the best of ways, murmuring a quiet _goodnight_ as the smaller stepped back and away to return to his own tent. A lingering _look_ between them, the undercurrent energy thick and strong, as Javier murmured the same back with a soft _smile_ at his lips.

A _tenderness,_ as they detached back to their normal routines. And Arthur watched as the man sidestepped Uncle's snoring form, nose wrinkling, before shuffling back into his own bedroll on the ground, vermillion flames from the fire pit casting sunset shadows across his figure. A dark silhouette collapsed in the tent alongside Charles' form and the cowboy can only sigh fondly at how _familiar_ it all felt.

Looked down at the sketched image in his palms, tracing the face laid there with delicate _care,_ before putting the journal away back into his things. Dragged the light hanging on the edge of his tent into _death,_ swarming him in comforting darkness, as he laid back against his own cot and found himself _thoughtless._ How many times had he been unable to sleep these past few months? Too strung-out with anxieties and fears to properly get any rest, but _now..._

All Arthur felt was _warmth_ and _relaxation_ and when he closed his eyes, Javier's face swam comfortingly in his head, voice a soft, gentle lilt in his dreams,

 

" Goodnight, _flor._ "

**Author's Note:**

> did you know gabriel sloyer recently liked a twitter comment that javier is a certified top.


End file.
